“Good. You understand, brother, that if any of the crew, including yourself, shows signs of the Red Hand this ship cannot land in Varinshold, or anywhere else?”
Frentis nodded. Vaelin could detect no fear or reluctance in him. The blood-song spoke of only a basic and unshakeable trust, an almost unreasoning loyalty. The thin, ragged boy who had pleaded for his support all those years ago in the Aspect’s room was gone now, forged into a seasoned and fearfully skilled warrior who would never question his orders. There were times when having command of Frentis felt more of a burden than a blessing. He was a weapon to be used only with great care, for there was no sheathing him once unleashed.
“I… regret the necessity of this, brother,” he said. “If there was any other course…”
“You never gave me that lesson,” Frentis said.
Vaelin frowned. “Lesson?”
“The throwing knife, you said you’d teach me. Thought I’d learned enough myself. Was wrong about that.”
“You’ve been taught much since.” Vaelin felt a sudden surge of guilt. All the battles fought by this blindly trusting young man, the wounds suffered. All the lives he had taken. “You wanted to be a brother,” he said, failing to keep the guilt from his voice. “Did we do right by you?”
To his surprise Frentis laughed. “Do right by me? When did you ever do wrong?”
“One Eye scarred you. The Tests hurt you. You followed me here to war and pain.”
“What else was there for me? Hunger and fear and a knife in an alley to leave me bleeding in a gutter.” Frentis gripped his shoulder. “Now I have brothers who would die in my defence, as I would die for them. Now I have a Faith.” His smile was fierce, unwavering, complete in its conviction. “What is Faith, brother?”
“The Faith is all. The Faith consumes us and frees us. The Faith shapes my life, in this world and in the Beyond.” As he spoke the words Vaelin was struck by the conviction in his own voice, the depth of his own belief. He had seen so much of the world now, so many gods, yet the words came from his lips with absolute conviction. I heard my mother’s voice…
Chapter 6
The days following the departure of the Red Falcon quickly took on a tense monotony. Every morning Vaelin went to speak to Sister Gilma at the mansion gate. So far the only new case had been the daughter’s maid, a woman of middle years who wasn’t expected to last the week. The girl herself, aided by her youth, was suffering the symptoms with great fortitude but was unlikely to live out the month.
“And you, sister?” he asked every morning. “Are you well?”
She would smile her bright smile and give a small nod. He dreaded the day he climbed the path to the gate and found she wasn’t there to greet him.
Once word of the outbreak spread the mood in the city became palpably fearful, although reactions varied. Some, mainly the richer citizens, collected their valuables and close relatives together before proceeding immediately to the nearest gate, demanding to be allowed to leave and resorting to threats or bribes when refused. When the bribes failed some conspired to rush the gates at nightfall in company with armed bodyguards and servants. The Wolfrunners had easily repulsed the assault, clubbing them back with the staves Caenis had had the foresight to issue when the crisis arose. Luckily, there had been no deaths but the mood of the city’s elite remained resentful and often desperately fearful. Some had barricaded themselves into their houses, refusing all visitors and even loosing arrows or crossbow bolts at trespassers.
The less well-off were equally fearful but more stoic in facing their fear and so far there had been no riots. For the most part people went about their normal business, albeit spending as little time on the streets or in the company of neighbours as possible. All submitted to the regular inspections for signs of the sickness with a resigned trepidation. As yet there had been no cases in the city itself, though Sister Gilma seemed certain it was only a matter of time.